Angry? What was angry? Raging? Had nothing on me. More like a pyroclastic meltdown with a side order of hell no.
I was not pacing the thick, cream carpet of a second floor bedroom with my hands so tightly fisted I couldn't feel them anymore. Nor was my wereguard prone on the matching comforter with some kind of liquid metal shoved in her mouth and wrapped around her head, the same oozing stuff pinning her arms and legs so tightly all she could do was tremble and stare at me with desperate eyes.
No, we were not trapped, prisoners, turned in by the very two kids I'd done everything I possibly could in my power to keep safe.
Hell. No.
Maybe if I'd had access to my magic, things would have turned out differently, though part of me doubted it. Not after Trill's blatant betrayal pinpointed our location. Charlotte tried to save me, diving in my way, yelling for me to run even as Demetrius's keening echoed in my head as he rushed the two sorcerers coming my way.